


50 Types of Kisses Prompt #28

by scriveyner (trismegistus)



Series: Voltron Fic Collection [47]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Prompt Fic, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/scriveyner
Summary: Everything is blue in the night, the air skidding in off the distant ocean salty and cold. Shiro’s lungs ache for a cigarette though he’s barely smoked but twice in his life; a decade ago—a different life, a different body, a different him. It doesn’t matter. Though the thought of a cigarette feels right, he takes a gulp of the whiskey he’d carried with him and lets the liquor warm his throat instead.
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Voltron Fic Collection [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/496336
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	50 Types of Kisses Prompt #28

Everything is blue in the night, the air skidding in off the distant ocean salty and cold. Shiro’s lungs ache for a cigarette though he’s barely smoked but twice in his life; a decade ago—a different life, a different body, a different him. It doesn’t matter. Though the thought of a cigarette feels right, he takes a gulp of the whiskey he’d carried with him and lets the liquor warm his throat instead.  
  
It doesn’t take the edge off, nor dull the hard knot formed in his chest.  
  
She was very pretty. Green eyes and freckles, a red ribbon in her dark hair – Shiro didn’t recognize her, he didn’t know half the people here but they all sure knew him. She wasn’t interested in him, though, threading her arm through Lance’s, pulling him away, toward the already-crowded dance floor and Lance gave her no resistance, rested his hand at the small of her back and Shiro’s throat tightened as they disappeared among the revelers.  
  
God. He _really_ needed that cigarette.  
  
Or Keith.  
  
Keith would ground him, would give him one long, flat look, and say “ _Lance?”_ and there would be multitudes in the name, drawn out in disbelief, derision, amusement. He’d clink his glass against Shiro’s – whiskey neat, no rock – and commiserate.  
  
But Keith was inside, dancing with his new husband, leaving Shiro alone to dwell on failed marriage and missed opportunities.  
  
The distant, dull roar of festivities increased in their volume as the door to the veranda opened. Shiro straightened, already turning when Lance’s voice cut through the chill of the air and lodged in his chest, struck true as an arrow. “So this is where you escaped to.”  
  
“Where’s your friend?” Somehow Shiro sounded normal, though he had to think on every word, every syllable.  
  
“Hm? Oh, I don’t know.” He leaned against the rail beside Shiro, folded his arms on the cool metal and turned his face toward the ocean, eyes closed. After a moment of silence, Shiro standing stiff and Lance relaxed, Lance let out a disappointed huff. “Can’t hear the ocean from here,” he said, morose.  
  
“We should go,” Shiro said, staring at Lance, catching the slight furrow of his brow before he looked over at Shiro, confused. He was seized by the thought of it, walking barefoot on the sand still in their tuxedos from the wedding. “Right now. Let’s ditch, Keith will understand.” He wanted Lance to hear the waves suddenly, more than anything.  
  
Lance let out a small, amused huff and straightened. “How much have you had to drink, Shiro?” he asked gently, and the indignation burned hot.  
  
“I’m not drunk,” Shiro said firmly, reached out between them and put his hand on Lance’s face, cradling his jaw. Lance grew very still when Shiro touched him; his face warm and his eyes wide, glittering in the reflected lights from the party behind him. “I’m not drunk,” he repeated, Lance’s expression shifted ever so slightly. He wet his lips without thinking, swallowed, and stared at Shiro with blue eyes so vibrant Shiro was lost in them.  
  
Every second of silence felt like a nail in the lid of his coffin. Finally, finally Lance reached up and covered Shiro’s hand with his own and Shiro was afraid that he’d pull Shiro’s hand from his face and that would be it, everything would be done with, over – and Lance said, as if to himself, “I wondered if you ever actually would…”  
  
They were too close together now, and Shiro swallowed, brushed his thumb over Lance’s lower lip, thought about all the things he couldn’t and shouldn’t and couldn’t bear it, couldn’t _breathe_. “Lance,” he said, and Lance smiled in a broken way, the same way he smiled when he talked about Allura and no, _no_ , that wound was still somehow so fresh and real and he couldn’t stand that Lance had to carry the weight of his grief alone.  
  
Lance turned his face into Shiro’s hand, closed his eyes. Then he pushed his own hand up against Shiro’s face, back into his his hair, fingers curling against the side of his head and pulling him in close. He let Lance lead the kiss, parted his lips and groaned when Lance sunk his teeth into Shiro’s lower lip.  
  
“What was her name, anyway?” Shiro asked, Lance’s arm over his shoulders now, one of his arms tucked behind Lance’s back.  
  
“Who the fuck cares,” Lance said, and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Anon requested prompt #28: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.


End file.
